"C'mon, now," John says, letting his cigarette linger an entire four inches from his face. He makes a gesture with his hands, expansive, vague, generally useless. "I ain't here as an instructor. Only one twat gets the prize; think, lad."
John, in a rare moment of following his own advice, thinks.
no subject
John, in a rare moment of following his own advice, thinks.
"How'd you go about it?"